


and even Lana Turner's smile (is something he can't see)

by nausicaa_of_phaeacia



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Prompt Fic, Season/Series 04, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 01:25:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8382526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nausicaa_of_phaeacia/pseuds/nausicaa_of_phaeacia
Summary: Daisy and Coulson after she's returned to S.H.I.E.L.D.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notcaycepollard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notcaycepollard/gifts).



> For notcaycepollard's birthday :) I was looking for sort of domestic prompts and found one, I'll leave it in the notes at the end.  
> Hope you like it! ♥

This thing between them, it’s still new. She remembers being so, so terrified of getting too close to him, after all that’s happened. Not that she would ever have even thought of making a move when she was still with S.H.I.E.L.D., but there used to be no reason to really second-guess anything she was saying; she’s been double-checking herself too much lately. She still finds it difficult to tell the difference between the things she’s telling herself when she feels guilty and the stuff the others tell her. Coulson’s always been some sort of a compass to her (now more than ever), not just in terms of professional stuff, but particularly when it comes to the questions she stays awake for at night.

It had all started when he’d made her cry by knocking on her door at four in the morning with a mug of hot cocoa. She’d been unable to really put anything into words, let alone actually explain stuff, but to her surprise, none of that was expected, or even necessary. He’d just sat down on her bed and offered her his presence without saying anything. Of course, impulsive little Daisy had to go all-in mere hours later, after a long while of him hugging her back on the bed, still in his clothes. It had felt like a swansong, like scraping together at least the politeness to say a proper goodbye before leaving (she hadn’t even unpacked her bag, it was still right under her bed, ready for departure at all times). She had been so sure of gambling away her chances, of ruining everything by making love to him, but at least she’d have given him everything.

She’d been so truly, completely shocked when he’d simply put his arm around her as they’d all been getting back into the Bus the next day, after the mission was finally done. Things still feel so uncertain, so new. Not unfamiliar, though – and that’s the thing, talking to Coulson, being with Coulson has always felt ridiculously natural, like something she’d maybe forgotten at one point and just returned to without thinking about it. Sometimes she scares herself by trying to imagine what things would be like if he wasn’t around. She doesn’t really know why she keeps thinking about that, but it’s almost as if she still can’t trust things to stay a certain way for once. Everything always seems right on the verge of disappearing, it’s as if no matter what she does, how hard she tries to get a hold of things, they always get pulled away from her with such a force that even breathing seems to hurt afterwards.

Right now, she can hear him approach her bunk door; she’s not exactly ready yet, but they’re supposed to go on a “date” (she doesn’t like the word, it adds pressure to things, but she’s not quite sure what to call _this_ yet). Nothing unbelievable – he knows she’s not up for anything that makes her feel like she should put more effort into it than she already does: she shouldn’t even have to think about it, he told her last night – they’re going out to see a movie and have dinner afterwards. Still, she’s made sure to put on something very nice. That does feel unfamiliar, but it doesn’t, at the same time. It just feels a little like she’s allowed to do things again, to go somewhere without having to think about possibly lethal consequences. 

His knock is very careful, like he’s scared to startle her, and it makes her smile. Her hair’s still all over the place, but she opens the door immediately anyway.  
“Hey, you. Come in.”  
“Hey.” He sounds a little embarrassed, but in a very cute way. She almost feels sorry for having to go to the bathroom to finish drying her hair.  
He leans against the doorframe, watching her but leaving enough space for her to not feel uncomfortable about it.  
“Nice shirt,” she mouthes over the noise, fighting a few strands that keep flying into her face.  
“Thanks,” she reads from his lips. The light pink shade of his shirt really does go well with his jacket; she wonders why she’s never seen him in a pink shirt before.

As she’s turning up the speed to finally be done with this, he pulls something red out of his jacket pocket, very slowly, keeping eye contact but trying not to smirk (he fails; he always fails). She freezes, turns off the dryer, then makes the connection.  
“Oh no, Phil.” She starts giggling, reaches for her red bra. “I’m sorry. I should have told you I left it in the basket.” She’s laughing so hard she has to lean against him, and he sort of hugs her; his chest is trembling with laughter.  
“Looks good on you, though.”  
“Don’t say you’re proud.”  
She takes his hand, pulls him out of the damp bathroom, gives him one of those looks that always make him consider sitting down for a second. “I am, though.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, tell me what you think :)
> 
> It's pretty obvious now, but the prompt was [YOUR STRAY RED ITEM TURNED MY WHITES PINK].  
> The title's from Nina Simone's _My Baby Just Cares For Me_.


End file.
